My husband announced that he was leaving for a week-long business trip to England. He urged me to stay home and rest, insisting there was no need to visit his parents in the countryside. Yet that day, my instincts told me differently, so I took the bus and decided to surprise my in-laws.
As soon as I entered the gate, what struck me first wasn’t my mother-in-law’s warm smile, nor my father-in-law’s slender figure sweeping the yard. What froze me in place was the sight of an entire row of baby diapers hanging from clotheslines. Some carried yellow stains, others bore traces of milk.
I stood rooted, unable to move. My in-laws were well into their sixties – far too old to have a baby. None of our relatives had left a child with them either. Then… whose diapers were these?
I stepped inside trembling. The house was unusually quiet, but a faint aroma of baby formula lingered. On the table lay a half-empty feeding bottle. My chest tightened, thoughts clashing in my mind. Could my husband be keeping something from me?
Then, from the old bedroom my husband and I always used when visiting, came the cry of a baby. I rushed there, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the lock. The moment the door swung open, I saw a newborn on the bed, flailing tiny arms and legs, while my mother-in-law hurriedly altered his clothes.
She paled at the sight of me, as if the blood drained from her face. Stammering, I asked:
— Mom… whose baby is this?
Her hands trembled, her eyes darted away, and she whispered faintly:
— Please don’t hate us… this child carries the bl00d of our family.
My body went numb. My husband’s excuses, his strange trips, her evasions… everything détr0yed together in my head.
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